


To Smooth That Rough Touch

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Edgeplay, M/M, Overstimulation, Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: Utterly shameless smut, for all the fans of Dom Crowley/submissive Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 330





	To Smooth That Rough Touch

The sheets beneath Aziraphale are already soaked in sweat. Unpleasant, sweat, but Crowley likes it when he does, he finds it rewarding, and… well, he is working so hard, he deserves to see the results of his efforts in any way that Aziraphale can express it. 

Crowley’s hands are firm and strong where they spread him open, squeezing at the soft flesh of his backside. His breath is so hot, he doesn’t need to breathe but he’s panting hard as if he did. Cheek to Aziraphale’s cheek, as it were, his nose temporarily nudged up against the twitching, saliva-wet ring of muscle, and each one of those heavy breaths teases the back of Aziraphale’s balls now.

If he tells Crowley to get on with it, Crowley _won’t_. He knows that, knows how Crowley likes to tease. But he wants to come so badly now, his arms are trembling with the strain of holding himself up on hands and knees, and Crowley is teasing him…

“The scent of you, angel…” Crowley growls, and his tongue flicks across Aziraphale’s hole-- he chuckles darkly at the way Aziraphale whines for him. “Oh no, I’m not done.”

“Crowley, _please_ …”

Crowley lifts his head, his lips moving over the small of Aziraphale’s back, his kisses so soft for how filthy he’d been not long before. He makes soft noises, gentle, as if he finds Aziraphale adorable like this. He nuzzles at him, presses close, holds Aziraphale’s hips in place and keeps placing those tender kisses to his skin, as if they were lovers separated for long months and finally reunited-- well, position aside. 

His tongue sweeps firmly up from the base of Aziraphale’s spine, the forked tips tickling on the last flick, he groans and kisses his back again, working his way down once more. Tasting Aziraphale’s sweat. It doesn’t quite smell human, neither of them does. Aziraphale’s never thought about the way it tastes, but Crowley seems as pleased with it as he is with the taste of anything else about Aziraphale. Which is to say, he chases down the fat drops of sweat that roll down the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs, moaning as if he’s been presented with a rich dessert. His tongue chases into the crease of the back of a knee, tickling, always tickling and teasing. 

Aziraphale has to lower his front half back down to the bed-- he’d been lying flat when they’d started, but he’d raised himself up eagerly enough, he’d thought Crowley meant to actually get him off once he’d been positioned for it. Now, even with his angelic strength and stamina, he has to make choices, and holding himself up on his arms is no longer a good use of his energy. He pulls a pillow in to try and prop himself up on a bit, and uses it to muffle a sound when Crowley laps at his balls.

“Oh no, let me hear you.” Crowley says, and Aziraphale feels the shiver run through him at the sound of his voice-- the low pitch of it now, the commanding tone. Whenever Crowley gets like this, Aziraphale loses his defenses, and doesn’t Crowley know it… He lets Crowley hear a high, shuddery sound of pure want, tilting his hips back to angle himself for more.

He doesn’t get it. Not yet. 

Though… he hasn’t quite got the heart to complain about the application of teeth to bottom that Crowley favors him with instead.

Sharp, quick nips, firm bites that he holds, his tongue laving wildly over the captured mouthful. Gentle nibbling lips that wander over the curve of one cheek, a mark sucked into being here or there, he traverses the entirety of Aziraphale’s backside with the attentions of his mouth and kneading hands, before he returns to Aziraphale’s hole-- and Aziraphale lets loose with moans and little cries all the while. Every so often between the bites, his tongue snakes down to give Aziraphale’s balls another warm lick, but it never comes so far forward as to offer his straining cock any attention. 

Aziraphale tries to palm at himself discreetly, but Crowley catches the movement, even occupied as he is-- with a growl, he has Aziraphale’s hand pinned at his side, and the next bite he delivers stings just a little bit more. 

“Naughty angel…” He says, with a voice like smoke and honey. Dark and dizzying and sweet, and Aziraphale can’t help the way he trembles before him, the way that he whines. “Did I tell you you could? And here you told me I could do as I pleased with you…”

“You can! You can! But I-- I just-- couldn’t I also do as I please with me?”

“You may not.” Crowley purrs. He kisses one bite mark. His grip is iron and there’s such a pleasure in struggling against it, in using only a small measure of his own strength that he might not get anywhere at all no matter how he pretends to fight him. “I think a certain someone needs to learn a valuable lesson…”

“Oh, _Crowley_ …”

“Touch yourself again and I’ll have you in chains, angel.” He says, releasing him and moving away. Aziraphale is half tempted, but he wants to know what lesson Crowley has in mind, first. Chains can always come later. He can feel Crowley leaving the bed-- when he speaks again, it’s from the chair in the corner. “Come here.”

It’s Aziraphale’s reading chair, but Crowley lounges across it as if it’s his throne, and Aziraphale the whole of the kingdom he cares to rule over. He’s fully dressed, though his cock strains obscenely against leather trousers, though his shirt is half unbuttoned and his hair a wild mess. Aziraphale moves to stand where Crowley indicates, and when Crowley gestures for him to turn, he does. Listens to the appreciative sounds Crowley makes at the view from behind before he comes full circle. 

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Crowley licks his lips, eyes roving over him. “Plump and blushing, like a ripe piece of fruit… and so greedy.”

“Crowley, it’s been _hours_.”

“And I could keep going for _days_. So you want to play with yourself, do you?”

“N-no.”

Aziraphale’s cock twitches. Crowley smothers a little chuckle behind his hand-- it’s rather softer than he’s trying to be, too affectionate. It isn’t the teasing of a cruel master, it is a lover so fond that his fondness comes bubbling out of him.

“If I had a sweet little cock like yours, I’d want to play with it. Could just cup my hand over it, small and perfect like that… maybe give it a little tug and then just… grind a little. Lick my palm and let it slide over the head. Trail my fingers over it and feel it _pulse_ … Must be downright irresistible sometimes, playing with that fat little cock. Why, I’d be at it all the time. Sitting here in this chair in the middle of the afternoon. In the shower. In the kitchen. While I’m meant to be tending the plants. Ooh, while you’re behind the counter in the bookshop.”

“ _Crowley_!”

“You’re already _dripping_.” Crowley says, and his tongue flickers out to taste him on the air. Aziraphale would much rather have that tongue tasting him in the flesh, but he knows exactly what he’ll get if he asks now. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

“No?”

“You’re so _luscious_ , angel… wet and dripping for me, so soft and plump like you were made to be grabbed onto… that nice, round, spankable arse. And those _tits_. Play with them for me, let me watch you.”

They aren’t breasts, exactly-- though they certainly have been, and Crowley had enjoyed the novelty thoroughly. But even without shifting himself around a bit to give himself an ampler bosom, there are two distinct swells over his chest where the fat lays thicker over the muscle, enough to squeeze together and form a valley where Crowley sometimes ruts against him, finds him warm and soft and eager to please. Enough to knead at as he stands before Crowley now, feeling the way those golden eyes move over him.

“ _Good_.” Crowley breathes, and his breath hitches just a little when Aziraphale whimpers. “Oh, I’d devour you…”

“Please.”

“Give yourself a little smack. Naughty naughty, angel, but you are delicious like this… play with your nipples, let me hear you.”

Aziraphale obeys-- he doesn’t consider disobeying for a moment. He circles one nipple lightly with a fingertip and then plays over it, he lets himself make all the noise his own touch can spur him towards. They’re achingly sensitive, but it isn’t enough. Oh, if Crowley touched him, it could be-- Crowley’s brought him off with little more than nipple stimulation before. He can’t do it for himself, somehow. All it does is work him further into his frustrated frenzy. But Crowley’s gaze on him is intense, intent. Crowley rises, stalking forward until there’s barely any space between them.

“Kneel.” He says, soft, and Aziraphale summons a supernatural grace to be able to sink to his knees slowly, unaided, instead of merely hitting the floor. There is a cushion waiting beneath him when he does, which wasn’t there before. Crowley runs a hand through his hair. “Good little dove…”

Aziraphale leans into the touch, whines when it disappears, but then Crowley is easing his zipper down. He opens his fly, tugs the waistband of his slinky black underwear out of the way, cock springing free. Aziraphale’s mouth falls open, and he forces himself to hold still otherwise, to wait patiently. Crowley brings himself to Aziraphale slowly, but once he’s slid into Aziraphale’s mouth, Aziraphale has permission to suck, to take in more. 

In this position, if he leans forward just so, his own cock is nestled just so between the warmth of his thighs and the weight of his belly. If he squirms in his place, he can find just a little friction against himself.

Crowley catches him at it, of course. He pulls away, tsking in disappointment. 

“Now, now, we’ve talked about this. What I give you, when I give it.” He says, and takes some pleasure in seeing Aziraphale lean after him, desperate for the return of his cock. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, if you get yourself off without my say?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, contrite. He doubts he could get himself off like that, even close as he’d felt to finding his release-- several times he’d thought himself close, only for Crowley to withdraw and to tease. He needs something only Crowley can give him, he thinks. At the very least, he thinks he would need to use a hand.

“If you make yourself come, without being told…” Crowley’s voice goes low, beautifully dangerous. He flashes a _wicked_ grin, pausing just to watch Aziraphale twist in the wind. “Naughty angel that you’d be, in such an event… what I’ll do, I’ll chain you up. On your feet, chest and cheek to the wall. Arms spread wide. Legs spread… wide as I want them. And I’ll smack that naughty bottom _raw_. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale sighs. It sounds _wonderful_. If only he didn’t truly want to be _good_ , perhaps Crowley would spank him until he’d forgotten all about sex, until he’d forgotten his own name. But he _does_ want to be good, and for Crowley to be proud of him. “Please, Crowley, I’ll be still-- won’t you let me please you again?”

“Ask me _nicely_.”

“Won’t you--” The embarrassment floods him. He knows exactly what Crowley means by ‘nicely’, exactly what he wants. He nearly protests that he can’t, but he wants to be good for Crowley so badly, and it’s such a little thing he asks for… “Crowley, won’t you let me satisfy you? W-won’t you-- won’t you fuck my mouth?”

He can barely get the words out, he feels shaky, somehow as if he’s reached a new layer of nakedness. Crowley grasps his jaw, gentle, and slides his thumb over Aziraphale’s bottom lip, pushes into his open mouth to stroke his tongue, setting new little fires inside him.

“ _That’s_ right, dove. What a sweet thing you are for me… You know when you ask me like that, I haven’t got the heart to refuse you… you know, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nods, whimpering and sucking at Crowley’s thumb. It’s not quite what he’d wanted, what he still wants, but he needs to be full somewhere, his mouth if nothing else. Crowley indulges him a moment, his other hand gentle through tousled, sweat-soaked curls, before he withdraws… and allows Aziraphale what he truly wants. This time, he doesn’t hold himself back from taking what _he_ wants, either.

When Crowley thrusts in, Aziraphale relaxes into it, letting Crowley use him for his pleasure. His own is a distant consideration now, all that matters is Crowley, all that matters is feeling his mouth filled, his throat. All that matters is hearing Crowley’s grunts and sighs and little bits of praise, feeling the way he grips his hair tight. All that matters is knowing he pleases, knowing he’s good and that Crowley is pleased…

Crowley pulls out, and Aziraphale waits-- if Crowley isn’t going to finish in his mouth, he might finish on him, he has done before, likes to sometimes. It’s satisfying in its own way, too. When it doesn’t come, he blinks up, uncertain.

“On the bed, dove, face down, arse up.” He says, and his voice is just a little too soft to call it an order, but Aziraphale could never say no to it just the same. He has a hand wrapped around his cock, hard and red and dripping with Aziraphale’s saliva, his own precome. “Got something for you.”

_Finally_. Aziraphale scrabbles to get on the bed, to position himself just the way Crowley wants him. His momentarily forgotten desire slams back into him full-force. He’s _aching_ for Crowley, and so thoroughly worked open. 

The bed dips, he can feel the heat at his entrance before Crowley pushes in-- slow, and even after all of the preparation he’d undergone, it’s so much, so _thick_ after being worked by tongue alone. And after being worked up and then left alone, he’s only so prepared for the sudden stretch, in the best way. He lets out a sob of relief when he feels Crowley in him to the hilt at last.

“Oh, sweet-- sweet little thing…” Crowley grunts, doesn’t hammer in as hard as he can, but thrusts in fast and firm just the same. “Body was made to take me… feels so bloody _right_ …”

He stills, slumps. This time, Aziraphale’s sob is of utter frustration. Crowley, with the stamina at his infernal disposal, has _never_ come so quickly, not even with Aziraphale using his mouth first. Never simply come and softened and pulled out like this, and Aziraphale slumps further down, boneless and devastated and desperate just to come.

“Don’t know if you’ve ever been so beautiful.” Crowley praises, spreading him open, thumb trailing around Aziraphale’s dripping hole. “Not a sight in Heaven as beautiful as you are right now… I could defile you and you would make it something holy. Mm, what was it the bard wrote? Give me back my sin again?”

Aziraphale whines, wordless, and then Crowley’s tongue is there again. He laps up his own dripping mess and then dives in, he seeks out Aziraphale’s most sensitive places. His long serpent’s tongue teases at Aziraphale’s prostate without mercy, he cups a hand over his cock, giving him just enough, and then the world goes white. When it returns, Crowley is perched on the edge of the bed, licking Aziraphale’s release from his fingers. Some is smeared across his chin, but whose Aziraphale couldn’t say. He flops onto his side and reaches weakly for Crowley, licks at his chin once he leans in close.

“How was it?” Crowley asks, gentle-- worried, almost.

“My dear… _perfect_.”

“Not too much?”

“It was wonderful.” He purrs, and tries to worm his way into Crowley’s lap. He feels so weak still, and he knows he could banish that feeling, but he refuses to. He wants the weakness-- it will fade with time, and with Crowley’s care. “Darling, are you happy with me?”

“Am I--? _Aziraphale_ , deliriously. Yeah.”

Crowley must have changed the sheets with a miracle, they no longer feel as if they’ve been sweat through. Still, a bath wouldn’t hurt-- especially not a shared bath. They often have one. Often, Crowley will treat him after, clean him up. They might have a cup of something warm, in a nest of blankets. They might feed each other some special treat. Crowley reads him poetry sometimes, and tells him how lovely he is. 

Sometimes, when a scene has been rough, Crowley presents him with a gift, but Aziraphale never expects it. Sometimes, he invites Aziraphale to unfold his wings, that Crowley might preen them, and by the time he’s done, Aziraphale is usually able to do the same for him, even if his hands are still clumsy. And then, Aziraphale thinks… oh, then, after all of Crowley’s hard work, when he feels adroit again, he shall massage every last inch of him. He shall make him his favorite for supper, whenever supper is. He shall put on the score to Crowley’s favorite opera and comb his hair. He shall thank him and thank him and thank him.

But next time… he rather thinks he should like to be chained to the wall.


End file.
